Reeling in the reels!

 

They couldn't find the vein to insert the cannula! As the nurse squeezed and hit my hands and asked me to tighten my fist, I wove in and out of pain and irritation. At last, the deed was done, and I tried to fight the waves of headache that swathed my brain in a tight grip, the medicine took effect and I fell into a stupor. I was conscious of people going and coming, the swish of the curtains, and the beep of the monitors but then god sent sleep took over and I slept a dreamless sleep.

As my poor husband ran to and fro between the ER (Emergency Room) and the billing counter I remained in the bliss of sleep. It took eons (it seemed like that) before a room was allotted and I was formally admitted into the hospital. The four days that followed were a routine of waking up early in the morning with one injection, a prick to check the blood sugar, and a band to check the blood pressure. By then I was wide awake, no point going back to sleep…. The machinery of the hospital takes over….

Unpalatable tea, followed by a worse breakfast, followed by the doctor's rounds, and the worst, the dietician's visit. (I have never really understood the presence of a dietician in a hospital) the dietician is normally a pretty young lady who agrees to whatever you say, she then promises better food but, the lunch that follows, is equally bad and unpalatable.

Do I sound disgruntled and ungrateful? Well, you would be too, if you are tethered to the bed with a yard-long drip attached to a painful cannula that is attached to your body. Every time you need to go to the loo you need to call the nurse to detach you from the contraption. This could take any time from five to twenty minutes! So I devised a method- just unhooked the bottle from the stand, hung it on a convenient hook in the loo, and returned with it in the same way. No one was the wiser!

The antibiotics performed their magic, my cloudy mind cleared out, and boredom set in. The fever refused to go off completely, so like the sacrificial goat, I lay tethered on the very comfortable bed with a high metabolic brain pulsating and raring to do something. I had already gotten bored of all the games on my phone (Unfortunately, I had not got my I-pad with me). So the next browsing fields were the social apps.

I finished seeing all the posts, what now? Well, now I saw something called the 'reels'. I knew about them, of course, but never had the time to check them out. I opened one of them- some video on some movie star…. Then a video about some cooking, some crazy kid dancing (Very well, I must say), someone teaching how to wear a sari, a DIY of some cute decoration…… I was hooked for life!

It is a never-ending source of entertainment. I can choose what genre I would like to indulge in. They are so short that they never bore you. My monkey mind was in paradise! It jumped from one subject to the other in ecstasy. Other than, mindless entertainment and buffoonery, Reels also offered a glimpse of Ted talks, preaching, and new knowledge. If interested, you could go to the original on YouTube and see the whole show.

Here I am permanently tethered to 'Reels'. My escape from reality, boredom, and pain. I promised to try out all the yummy recipes I saw on them. The DIY reels game me new ideas for my art and craft indulgence. The Ted talks enriched my mind. The preaching gave many answers to my existential questions and was like a balm on my troubled soul.

I salute all the new innovations the new generation is bringing forward and bless the men who invented the internet. Now we are all connected beyond space, time, and distance.

Let the "reels" reel me in!

 

 

….For the love of a book

 

 

It’s been a hectic month so far! Lots have been happening…. I had been sitting on my third book for the last (which I must say has been topsy turvy!) year. I don’t want to go into details but safe to say that I have not stayed at home for a month at a stretch. Either I have been traveling to other cities or the hospital!

Well, I decided enough is enough and proceeded with my publisher to publish the book. “Weave Some More” has literally woven webs of confusion, distractions, and plenty of new learnings.

I learned how important it was to advertise the book, I also learned that I need to join like-minded groups, and also to keep my ear to the ground to hear the rumblings about the book.

Though I have used Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and LinkedIn to let the world know about the birth of my books, I have not used it methodically (So my publisher says). So I put myself into their expert hands to do the serious work and continued my amateur bumbling on Social Media!

I was soon flooded with a lot of requests from many groups who wanted to follow me or talk about my book or my writing process. It was flattering, to say the least, but it was a lot of work, nevertheless. One more pleasant surprise was how many of them wrote their own interpretations of the book and posted them on different platforms. I am grateful.

Facebook was filled with congratulatory messages from many of my friends and relatives. But I wonder how many of them did read the book. The best compliment a writer ever gets is when he realizes that his book has been read and critiqued (even if it is a bad one!) I am extremely grateful to the handful who made it a point to message me with their thoughts or wrote reviews on various platforms.

I do realize that in this day of the internet and video world, very few have the interest or the inclination to actually read a three-hundred-page book. Being a book lover I do not understand this trend, but then each to his own.

A book is like a living creature. Every time you read it, it throws out new ideas, nuances, and visions. A couple of people argue that what do we need with them? After all the internet is teeming with ideas and entertainment; why go through the pain of reading, exploring, and using your “noodle” to wallow in the pleasure of reading, processing, and creating your own world?

I have no arguments for or against the above theories. Only a book lover can really ‘feel’ the pleasure that seeps through him when he uses a writer’s words to create and travel through a world. The underlined word is ‘create’. It is true that the writer has created a world with his words but your vision of it is your own creation and thus you own it.

Whoever has the time to read this, please do answer the question, “which other entertainment path allows you to create and find fulfillment and gives you ownership of your reactions and emotions?

Age No Bar

 

My Estrogen levels are falling at the same rate as the petrol price is rising! So as the vehicles get leaner and meaner, I am getting comfortably plumper and irritable.

While growing up, anything connected with the reproductive cycle was not discussed. Even mothers did not encourage this topic to be put up on the podium. Don’t worry I am not going to either ( I belong to the older generation, as you might have guessed). The only reason why I am mentioning the unmentionable is the consequences of this titillating hormone!

All my old readers know that whatever my age might be, I always feel that I am twenty one! Though I forget, my body refuses to! It creaks and aches (most of the time I ignore it), sometimes I even moan unconsciously.

It so happens that I have these unnatural urges to go on a cleaning spree. I have no set rules for this. Sometimes I do Spring cleaning in Autumn, otherwise when the world is happy enough to snuggle under blankets, I love to sweat it out! (You guessed right, using my elbow grease). When I am not physically so occupied, my mind is busily whirring about the house searching for nooks and corners that might need me. If all else fails, I go round shifting furniture!

“So what,” you might say, “that’s no big deal!”

I can imagine the bored look on your face.

Well, these urges have a tendency to overwhelm me when I am alone. When the lord and master is on his trips, my cupboards are cleaned; the kitchen is scrubbed; all old papers are sorted through; the fans are cleaned; windows are scrubbed…. the list is endless. Notwithstanding its not a surprise that all my maids hate it when L&M goes on his trips, as half the scrubbing has to be done by them.

As I grow older these escapades are not limited to me being alone. Post COVID, with WFH becoming the norm, the trips have reduced, and my addiction has increased. When L&M is bound to the study this “mouse” has to play. In the beginning I got away with it, but after a couple of falls and strained backs, the L&M keeps an eagle eye on me (As advised by the Doc and other new adult in the family). In fact certain paparazzi has taken secret videos when I am indulging and the next couple of days are rather uncomfortable for me! (the mind not so much the body).

I am sure you will sympathize with me when I tell you that once I used to climb the high ladders, clean the fans, and light fittings with the maid being my helper, now I am demoted to the post of a helper. The Mighty Maid stands regally upon the said ladder like a surgeon at the operating table.

“Soap,” the maid asks, followed by, “Wet cloth” then, “Dry cloth.” Then I, like the Nurse, meekly hand over the things, looking up at royalty.

Once upon a time, I did not wait for anyone to do my mind’s bidding. Now I have to wait for a suitable day before I can take the itch of cleaning away from my soul. Added to this, I cannot climb on high stools, lift up heavy stuff or take off the cobwebs without being upbraided!

Just the other day, L&M went off on his trip. My maid had left for the day. I was not able to sleep. The big loft in the kitchen balcony (It had become a dumping ground for all unwanted stuff) beckoned! The Cat was away, who would stop me? I took the stool (I was careful) took out everything and cleaned up the whole area. Oh! What pleasure; what salve for my soul and the most important thing ‘peace’ that filled my very being. Sorting, cleaning, throwing, and arranging, I lost track of time. I was so proud of myself.

“I did it!” I congratulated myself.

The melodious tune of my phone woke me from my reverie, and I rushed to get it. That was the precise time when my back was wrenched, and I haven’t heard the last of it from the three voices whose religion is to catch me on the wrong foot!

“When will you learn?” , same words but different voices.

I think its all my mind’s fault who refuses to grow up!

Acceptance

 

“Smile,” she said.

“Smile,” he responded with a grin.

Now emaciated and frail, he is hardly able to take two steps without help. At eighty five plus, I wonder what goes on in the cloudy brain of his.

I remember the first time I met him, almost thirty three years back. He had presumably come to meet his old classmate (my dad), but I knew that he had come to meet me, to see whether I would fit into their family as a daughter-in-law!

As a young adult I had no desire to get married. I wanted to study further, maybe make a mark in this world.

My nerves untangled and relaxed when I first met him. He spoke to me as if I were his daughter. It took me some time to break barriers and mind blocks and to agree to be a part of his family.

As the years passed and I saw him transition from being my “father-in-law” to being a grandpa to my children and still later I saw him play his role to the next daughter in law of the house and form a new relationship.

I knew that first and foremost to him I was a daughter. He confided in me, he asked advice and gave advice, and many a time stood up for me when I was being criticized. The best thing was when I was thirty five, he gave my age as twenty five to the travel agent to make tickets!

He is by nature a very quiet man who adores his wife and family. I had heard from the others, that as a young father he had been a terror about discipline. I never saw that side of him. He never forbade me about doing anything, nor did he reprimand me when I did certain things he disapproved of, but in his own inimitable way, he let it be communicated to me.

He was especially good with numbers. You could ask him any tabulation with vast numbers, he would always come off with the right answers.

He first noticed that he was having trouble walking with a steady gait when he was seventy two. After consulting with some of the country’s best neurologists, we came to the conclusion that he has slow nerve degeneration which cannot be treated aggressively. Some tablets, exercise and physiotherapy were the only way to delay the inevitable. I never took it seriously- a little unsteady or faltering steps did not handicap a person!

The change in him was slow too…. He was more careful while putting out his feet, he got up slowly and waited before moving (he already had a few falls!). The house was now lined with handlebars for his safety.

We celebrated his seventy fifth in Alexandria, Egypt. A quaint city on the Mediterranean sea where we were posted then. He improved dramatically, he went for walks by the sea, the Lord and Master (his elder son) took him to the hookah parlour, and he did the usual touristy stuff without a murmur. We thought the tide had turned!

Was it insecurity? Was it the little cobwebs that grew around his neurons? Or was it just fate? He grew into a different person. He formed attachments which we could not understand. He criticized many people. There was always some kind of fear at the back of his eyes.

We all noticed these changes, but as it is with all nuclear families, we were busy with our own challenges and did not notice the cliff looming ahead of us.

We never noticed that his conversation with us was getting limited to “Good,” “OK” and “God bless you.” We did not want to acknowledge that the pair of eyes had an eternal faraway look, as if he was not with us but in some other realm. We went on thinking that he would get out of this stupor and say, “lets go out for dinner.” Maybe it was all for the best, we lived on in hope and did not suffer the angst of losing his essence.

Now, ten years later, his recognition of most people has disappeared. Though he still recognizes his own family. Some of his past memories are crystal clear, yet he forgets to say hello. His handshake is still firm and the smile when he crosses the veil sometimes, is genuine. Even now, if you asked him what is 747 multiplied by 29, the answer would come pat with 21663! I would still be trying to open the calculator app.

Soon he needed help with everything. A series of attendants came and went. He formed attachments and broke them with each passing relationship. There were some who took exceptional care, who made an effort to talk to him to refresh is memory , try and brush away the cobwebs with the conversation duster and then there were some who only did their duty and disappeared.

I met him after a gap of one year. A year that took away my mother and dragged me in and out of hospitals. I did not expect that he would remember me.

“Who is this?” his wife asked

“Binny,” he said without meeting my eyes.

“Who is Binny?” she asked.

“My daughter,” he looked at me shyly and smiled.

 

Maid Files

 

“ I need four Sundays off and maybe another four days if I need them,” the large red Bindi looked at me aggressively. “Before you say anything, I shall mop the floor every alternate day and for lunch I need at least one veg dish and dal along with roti,” the rasping voice continued its monologue. My feeble attempts to interrupt were swept aside with a flick of the hand…

The lift man who had deigned to bring in the house help nodded approvingly at both of us, as if all had been settled!

“ My salary will be twenty thousand along with double salary on Diwali,” she continued.

“Why do you need so many holidays?” I asked meekly (my mistake!)

“I need time to visit my children and grandchildren, my brothers and sisters and I have a social life too!” she grinned at me wolfishly.

I was terrified.

“Will let you know,” I mumbled while ushering them out of the door.

“Jaldi bolna (tell me soon),” she barked, “I have many people wanting my services.”

I closed the door, leaned on it (I thought she would push back in!) and took a deep breath and looked out at the beautiful view from my balcony.

“Hope you are not planning on keeping her!” Lord and Master stated.

Having had an angel for a house help for the last eight years in our last home, I had not considered that finding another one would be a challenge. I had hoped that she would move along with us, but it was too far away from her family and friends to come here. With a heavy heart I had decided I would need a new person and with that to train them in my ideocratic methods of housekeeping!

COVID had made another change in my life I had a house husband to cope with now! After thirty years I need not ask , “When are you coming home today?” or “Will your trip be extended?” or “why didn’t you tell me you are not there for dinner!”. It was fun – didn’t have to get up early in the morning, didn’t have to worry about dinner (though I did have to plan lunch!), could go out whenever I wanted (COVID permitting) and didn’t have to wait for weekends to go shopping. L&M (Lord and master) helped a lot around the house- cooked, made tea, even micromanaged the maid (who did not miss grumbling about him to me). He also filled the sink with interminable dishes, complained about the maid and shut the study for hours (Work from home!)

So here he was, in our new home already stepping into the forbidden territory of hiring the house help. Though irritated at first, I realised he would spend equal time with her around the house so the “chemistry" should be good there.

The house was still being done up, so I could afford to ignore the frantic calls from “Red Bindi” and the lift man. I hoped that once I shifted in, I would conduct all the interviews and find my “angel of mercy.”

Having braced myself for confrontation, I informed the liftman that I would not be employing his friend. I was harangued by the great Madam for at least three days with  lot of negotiating factors ( wont take so many leaves, can have rice instead of roti, will mop the floor daily etc.). I realised I had burnt my bridges as far as the liftman was concerned.

The next person contacted was the housekeeping in charge of the apartment. He sent a house help immediately.

I had been doing all the housework for the last week, so I just took this one in.

“I like my tea with only milk,” “After lunch I need to rest” and  “why do you need to sleep after lunch?” were all taken in my stride. The first couple of days went by with lots of protests regarding my housekeeping methods from the “I -hoped-to- be-the- angle!"

The entire day was punctuated with “Madam come here, this is not working!” or “Madam how does one open the tap?” To say I was harried and hassled would be an understatement! After lunch she took to sitting on MY easy chair in the balcony and looking blankly at the rain falling. Thankfully, she did not turn up one day and said that she was ill and did not come for the next five days (Ganesh puja days!) and I had the perfect reason to sack her.

Back to scrubbing and cleaning (thank God for the dish washer and the washing machine!) ( L&M was a great emotional and physical help too). Sending out feelers for the third time…….

Nicely draped in a smart sari with dangling earrings, the dusky beauty came in spewing honey and sweetness. I did not hesitate, told her to come right away. In two days flat she had got the hang of what I wanted; listening to her sob story of how her husband had lost his job of fifteen years due to COVID, how this was the first time she had come out of the house to work, she had three children to clothe and feed, I did not quibble when she wanted a couple of my dresses (“Its so difficult to work in a sari!”). I threw in a set of bangles, some purses, and nighties too.

I was supposed to go on a long trip leaving L&M at home so I felt he would be well looked after in my absence. I was at the airport when I got the message that “Our lady” had not turned up. On the phone , “ My son was unwell, I will definitely go tomorrow.”

For the next three months the excuses varied from, “Madam! I am not well” to “Madam I have to go for the vaccine” to “Madam I need to go for the parent teacher meeting,” (though her husband was without a job and sitting at home!) to “Madam I need a break.” I was gullible enough to be taken in. but then there is that ‘ last straw that breaks the camel’s back’, and I had to, albeit reluctantly, let her go.

I was again travelling when L&M started taking interviews and updating me on them. One was very good, but she could come only at twelve. The other one worked in three houses so could come at seven in the morning or at one in the afternoon and so on. All of them energetic and young but each had their own baggage, and I was coming home to another maid less existence. The latest one has survived for the last three weeks… lets hope the chemistry between us is good and she lasts longer than the others. (touch wood)

 I keep repeating “I miss Manisha!” ( my last angle), “She spoilt me so, that I cannot find anyone to replace her”. ( forgetting that it took me two whole years to train her!)

So its back to the grindstone, polishing the rough edges, pampering and being strict alternately (For AC is better than DC!) I don’t know whether we Indians will ever be self sufficient enough to survive without these angles of mercy, but I do know how important they are to my peace of mind!

God Save the House helps!

 

 

 

 

 

Crystal Clear

 

The crystal cabinet had been beckoning me for the last six months! it had become so dusty that I refrained from putting on the display light, lest its accusative eyes turned in my direction!

My grandmother boasted of a crockery cabinet which housed a dinner set , tea set and other cutlery which were I believe used during the British Raj. They were used only when the British boss of my grandfather came for dinner! (Snobs!). Well, I had never seen them being used during my time spent with Granny; but I did hear a lot of stories associated with them. How Mrs. Rogers loved to have tea with her pinkie up as she picked up the teacup, or how the cake display tiered plates were loaded with special cakes with icing and the children were not allowed to touch them till after the guests had left! The crystal wine glasses, and the tiny liqueur shot glasses sparkled and caught my eye whenever they were washed and lovingly put back. Sometimes I did wonder why this was done with religious regularity when they were never used!

As my grandmother and I both got older, the cabinet was forgotten and relegated in the backroom with old books and many curios. It was too difficult to keep them dust free outside! Anyway there were no visitors who appreciated them so why go to all that effort. I didn’t miss them much either, my only interest were books and there were plenty of them outside.

I grew up and began setting up my own house. Whenever I got the little bit of extra money, I would buy crystal show pieces to put around the house. While I lived in Alexandria for a couple of years, I was never able to resist a visit to the crystal factory and went on adding to my collection. When the travel bug bit me and I travelled to many countries, my only indulgence there were fridge magnets and crystal show pieces.

Soon the fridge did not have any space for the magnets, so I stuck them on any metal board (read the electricity board!) I found. My crystals of course got a new house and they sparkled and glinted under the spotlights. Each of them have a story associated with them as do the fridge magnets. Though my crystal glasses and crockery still lay in cabinets without being displayed, but unlike my granny, I use them whenever I have a chance.  

Never did I ever let the maids or anyone else touch my artifacts. Once in two months I would take each piece out carefully and clean and wipe them while I reminiscence on the place where I got them from. If anyone was around (read my children) I would insist on telling them about it; sometimes forgetting that I might have already told them before!

Here I was all alone- the children leading their respective lives and the lord and master on a work trip. The sun had set, and I reluctantly left the balcony and came in to watch something on TV. I swear my back was to the crystal cabinet.

“Hey! Hello Madam!”

I looked all around the room and muted the TV. Walked out and peeped into the neighbour’s balcony- it was pitch dark and not a sound was peeping through. Thinking I must have imagined it I unmuted  the TV and continued browsing through what I would like to see.

“Don’t you think you have run out of excuses?” the anger and irritation in the words were palpable.

A ghost in my new house? Or was it someone playing a prank?

There are four apartments on the floor and the only one occupied was ours. It could be someone from downstairs; but what excuses were they talking about?

I opened the front door and peeped outside the safety door. Nobody there! Shutting the door I turned back, and I saw the dust filled crystal cabinet lit up and looking at me with exasperation.

All the excuses- ill health, no time, travelling, more important things to do…. the list was endless, but I had actually run out of them!

I put on the apron and began the ritual. As I cleaned each piece to its glittering glory the memories tumbled over each other and filled me with happiness. True there was no one to share my recollections but I pottered about happily, filling my metal minds ( read the ‘Mist born’ series to understand!) with happiness, which I hope I can retrieve and use when the world is bleak.

Now the fridge looks at me accusatively as it remains unadorned in its new position in the new house….

I do wonder who put the spotlights on!

 

HOPE

The world has gone around the sun once more. In all my fifty plus years I have never had to face such a turbulent year. My emotions, health status, and metabolism, all followed the transverse wave pattern. The crest and trough were as far apart as it is humanly possible!

They said that when Pandora let open the Pithoi (Box in Greek) left in her care, all the evils of the present world which were entrapped in it escaped; though she tried to close the box it was too late and only one thing -“Hope” was let out to control the maleficence of her act.  By the middle of the year I had no energy or inclination to believe that there are any ups in life. Hope refused to come into my line of control!

COVID destroyed my faith in resurgence ; malaise and weakness enveloped me in its cocoon, and I was content to wallow in the warmth of the care, my family gave me. I think I completed the quota of sleep that I had lost out on during my student days and bringing up my baby days! Eat-sleep- eat- repeat became the pattern of my life. My mother’s passing away, twice being admitted to a hospital and the gloomy forecast did not help my cause. I chose to ignore the positives –my daughter’s wedding, that I survived COVID and our moving into our own home.

I lay watching the lovely scene outside the bedroom window. The rain had made everything green, the small hamlet filled with cottages with their red roofs, the rain swallows piping merrily and swooping in and out of the clouds brightened my days.

Slowly I moved into the balcony which gave me a magnificent view of my beloved mountains draped with black and white clouds. The early mornings and late afternoons were graced by the glorious sun; the night sky was adorned with the twinkling stars and the phases of the moon.

Suddenly energy leaped and strove to escape my mind and I got busy doing up the house. I forgot the resurgence of energy was only in my mind and I collapsed again! “Hope” did not have a chance! Back into the trough I went.

The new year came and went . I knew I had to push back this cloak of darkness and look at the new sunrise if I were to get back even a semblance of normalcy.

The new adult in our family was around, behaving like a child. Pointing out the loveliness of the scenery and underlining my luck. Both she and the lord of the house had taken over the reins of house running and their comic moments lightened my mood.

One day I heard the bleating of the goats in the background. I was deeply ensconced in my game, and I doubt if I would have registered it if the Young Adult had not forced me to come and look down at the ground below. There were hundreds of goats crossing in front of our apartment to move to (what I presume) a fresh grazing field. The whole lot were controlled by a young youth with a stick in his hand. What made him able? What made the goats listen to him? What made both to cross over to the unknown realm?

I believe it was ‘Faith’, that life will take care of the strays, that the power beyond our comprehension will lead us on to greener pastures and the circle of existence will guide us from darkness to light. My ‘faith then pulled out ‘hope’ from the murky depths of events and I went on to grow like the creepers towards sunlight and positivity.

Now as I still rest on the moss encompassed mind, I feel the warmth of love, hope and compassion lead me on to a rainbow land and hope that I can once again lead a busy and eventful life.

So do you believe that faith and hope triumph against all odds?